


Etude No. 3

by wyntre



Series: The Space Between Words [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Fluff, M/M, No Dialogue, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 07:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11664282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntre/pseuds/wyntre
Summary: Worship(wɝː.ʃɪp)Verb1. show reverence and adoration forMissing scene from "Ya’aburnee".





	Etude No. 3

**Author's Note:**

> First lot of smut - I've no idea what I'm doing
> 
> Also I'm going to hell.

A breath, a gasp. Moans. Backs arch against the bed as fingers graze over torsos - struggling for purchase. He feels a bite where his shoulder meets his neck, teeth breaching the skin enough to draw blood. Hannibal murmurs something inaudible into the bite, voice dripping with hunger; before sucking on in momentarily, tasting copper and something  _Will._  
Will groans as Hannibal's large hand travels south and wraps around his hardened cock, stroking it languidly. Their eyes meet, pupils blown wide with lust. Hannibal works his way down Will's torso, mapping every valley and mountain with his lips and tongue. He buries himself in the heady scent between Will's thighs, breathing it as if it were oxygen; as if it sustained life itself. Hannibal smirks, taking Will's hardness into his mouth and swirling his sinful tongue around it. Will chokes in response, one hand threading through Hannibal's hair, the other grasping helplessly at the sheets.

* * *

 

Will's eyes have gone intensely blue as he feels Hannibal push past the ring of muscle at his entrance. The older man's skilled fingers had worked him open, and now they grasp his hands, pinning him to the bed. Slowly, tortuously, Hannibal moves. Will is his piano, and he is the maestro; every movement deliberate and organised, eliciting the right note at the right moment. 

Will is an Etude, Hannibal's Etude. He feels Will's climax approaching, crashing before he realises what has happened. Hannibal plays him through it, his lips finding their way to pepper kisses along his shoulder and close the distance between their mouths.

* * *

 

Sometime later, Will runs his fingers over Hannibal's sculpted chest; while curled together in bliss. Hannibal is sleeping, and the younger man commits every inch to touch memory, something to hold onto should they need to run again. He looks up at Hannibal's peaceful face, and finds himself longing to reach out and run his thumb along the sharp cheekbones. Hannibal is divinity, something fragile and to be worshipped. Hannibal is his symphony. 

~fin~


End file.
